Breaking Point
by minachandler
Summary: Set during the flashbacks in 3x14. Laurel goes to Tommy's to apologise after bailing on him at dinner. She ends up confiding in him about so much more, though, and they find comfort in each other in a way that is slowly becoming more familiar to both of them. My tumblr prompt was "last kiss".


_This will be our last kiss,_ Laurel tells herself as she feels the doorframe press against her back and Tommy's lips on hers and his hand firmly on her hip.

That was three kisses ago, though.

With every ounce of willpower that she can muster, she manages to pull away from him, tries to take a step back – but she trips, only now realising that one foot was already over the threshold. But Tommy catches her, arms now encircling her waist to stop her falling, and it's all too much for Laurel. On her own, she rights herself, panting a little, before extricating herself from Tommy's grasp.

"I should probably go," she says, her eyes fixed on a spot just above his shoulder.

"You don't have to," Tommy says, and she can't help but notice the crestfallen look on his face. She catches his hand in hers, despite herself, and he squeezes back.

"What happened to you saying this shouldn't be a thing?" Laurel asks, a slight smile on her face in spite of the very doubts she is voicing.

"You came to me."

She shakes her head. "I came to apologise. For bailing on you at dinner."

For some reason, he stiffens when she says that. "Right. You said it was work."

It's obvious he didn't really believe her excuse, and she can't blame him, not really. But to her surprise, he steps back nevertheless, gesturing for her to come inside. She does so, barely even hesitating (and trying her utmost to push the thoughts of him kissing her just moments before to the very back of her mind where they belong), and makes her way to the living room, hearing him shut the door behind her and follow her inside.

"I'm sorry I had to leave," Laurel says once she is seated on the couch. She moves over to rest on one end, and Tommy sits on the other end, watching her closely.

"It's fine," he says quickly. "It was probably a bad idea anyway."

"It wasn't 'just dinner', then?" she teases softly, and her heart soars when she manages to get a smile out of him. "It wasn't work."

"I figured as much." And it surprises her how much he doesn't seem annoyed at her, or angry – just let down a little, really. Silence falls. For how long, Laurel's not quite sure. Tommy's still looking at her, waiting, waiting for her to speak. To explain.

"You know, I've gotten into a habit nowadays," she says eventually. "Whenever I walk into a bar, when I… when I pay for the drinks, I always leave my name and number on a piece of paper along with the cash."

Tommy lets out a strangled sound that she supposes should be a chuckle at her words. "I should try that sometime," he says, and his voice is a little hoarse, from how long he's stayed silent for. "Maybe it would work better than one of my legendary pickup lines."

Laurel shakes her head. "Since… the Queen's Gambit went down," she says, unable to even utter Oliver's name (and she's not sure why she's even telling him this), "there's only been you." He lets out a quiet "oh" of surprise at that. "No, I leave my number in case my dad decides to go into a bar after work – or _during_ work, sometimes – and drink himself into oblivion."

His expression changes in an instant, and he scoots closer to her on the couch, until their knees are touching and his hand covers hers. "Oh God," he says quietly. "Laurel, I –"

"I left because one of those bartenders called me," Laurel continues, "told me that he was getting out of hand… that if he had any more scotch he would probably become unconscious. So I –" And now she can't fight the lump in her throat any longer and her voice breaks a little. "I left the restaurant as soon as I got the call and… went to the bar he was in. And once I managed to get him in my car, he – passed out in my back seat."

She's not quite crying – she manages to at least swallow the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes – but Tommy envelopes her in a hug nevertheless. He drops a kiss on the top of her head. "It's okay," he murmurs to her.

But at that moment, she lifts her head to look at him. "You don't even sound surprised," she says.

"When he came here the other day," he admits, "during my party, when that drug dealer was killed, I could tell he… wasn't exactly sober."

"You can say it, you know," she says bitterly. "He's an alcoholic."

"You can't blame yourself," Tommy tells her firmly. "Whatever happens with your dad, none of it is on you. I mean it. None of it."

"I guess," Laurel says faintly, barely half-convinced. "I wish I knew what to do. I mean, I feel like he doesn't have anything left. Sara's dead. Mom's settled in Central City. He might not even have work to obsess over if he keeps drinking on the job like he is right now."

Tommy's answer surprises her. "He's got you."

She manages a smile at him, small and no more than a vague upturning of the corners of her lips, but it's there. He seems relieved. "Before I left his apartment… I blew up at him. Told him I had quit the job at that white shoe firm because he had been right, and that even when he is hurt and grieving and drinking away his feelings, his heart was still in the right place. I told him he needed to realise how much he was damaging his own life every time he decided it was a good idea to get wasted. He didn't say much. But then, when he looked ready to pass out all over again, do you know what he said to me?"

"What?"

She takes a few breaths, again forcing herself to bite back the onset of tears in the way a dam is very nearly at breaking point.

"He told me that I was always trying to save the world. But that… I should just quit while I was ahead because he was – past saving."

And now she gets to her feet and turns away from him, unable to stand looking Tommy in the eyes any longer. He gets up too, though.

"I don't think I need to tell you that drunk people say all kinds of things they don't mean. And, I mean, he probably won't even remember it in the morning."

"I will, though," she says, and she squeezes her eyes shut as a couple of tears trickle down her cheeks. But then to her surprise, she feels his hand on her shoulder, and she lets him turn her round.

Unexpectedly, his lips are touching her forehead seconds later, and she wishes it didn't feel so comforting. She wishes she could do the easy thing, the thing she _wants,_ which is to yank him forward by his shirt and kiss him and let him make her come so hard that she forgets all her worries, all the troubles she has, all the things in the world that are wrong that she can't fix no matter how much she wants to.

Instead, though, she moves away. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I can't."

"This doesn't have to be a thing," Tommy tries to say, but she shakes her head and makes her way to the door. Her hand is on the doorknob when she feels Tommy's eyes on her and she looks back at him.

"Thank you for listening," Laurel says gratefully. He smiles back, trying to hide his disappointment, and watches her open the door. She has one foot over the threshold when he speaks.

"I'm always going to be here for you. You know that, right?"

Against her better judgement, she looks back at him again, and there is so much earnestness in his expression, so much concern and – dare she even _think_ it? – love in the way he looks at her that she is almost tripping over the threshold once more as her feet carry her, as if of their own accord, to where he is standing at the staircase. He looks just as surprised as her, but before she can stop herself, her arms are around his neck and she is kissing him, harder than she ever has before.

And, indeed, just as she anticipated, when, not long after, she is lying back on his couch, jeans tossed to one side and panties pooled at her feet on Tommy's living room floor, and he is kneeling between her legs, she forgets everything as he brings her to breaking point in an entirely different way.


End file.
